Just Say Whoa
by Bea Ryan
Summary: Jason tries a new tactic in his quest to get over Charlie. It is a glorious failure. (DJD Bromance Series #4, now featuring a reluctant Miles.)


"Look at all the fucks I don't give," Jason screamed, furiously jacking his cock as he leaned on the railing of the third floor fire escape.

Bass and Miles studied him from below, standing clear of the danger zone should liquid fucks suddenly rain down. The pink edges of dawn showed on the eastern hills. Miles leaned against a tree and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Bass drooped beside him, ready to finally turn in for the night.

"What's got his panties in a twist?" Miles asked.

"Second verse same as the first," Bass answered.

Four hours and a bottle of tequila ago he'd advised Jason to act like he didn't care about Charlie until either she came running or it was true. His pining had reached new heights recently and a crescendo had been on the horizon for a while. Charlie had ended her relationship with the sheriff only to bounce several times on the rebound and yet still completely bypass Jason. He'd been openly scornful of the cowboy and the rancher she'd dallied with, but he was taking her fling with the carnival barker, a small man with a sharp tongue and a shiny suit, as a personal insult. As he'd drunk the evening away Jason's reluctantly adopted "I don't care" mantra had morphed in to grunts of "I don't give a fuck." Bass had managed to drag him home from the bar, but Jason had refused to go to bed and had instead had taken up a perch and begun crowing.

Tom wandered out to join Miles and Bass as they stared up at the spectacle. His eyes squinted and his lips formed a hard line. "What's he on?"

"Tequila," Bass answered.

Jason screamed, "This is the field where I shall plant the fucks I don't give. Watch as I spray my seed."

Tom side-eyed Bass. "That's not just tequila."

"He got angry a little more than halfway through the bottle. He bought a joint to take the edge off."

"Buying drugs from strangers in a bar on the edge of the Badlands. What could possibly go wrong?" Miles said.

"I'll believe he smoked something," Tom said. "I doubt it was marijuana."

"Yeah, your boy's an idiot," Miles said. "Good luck getting him down."

"No," said Tom. "You got him high. You can bring him down to earth. I'm going back to bed." Tom turned his back and left, firmly closing the door behind himself when he re-entered the building.

"Father of the year right there," Bass muttered.

"He has a point," Miles said.

"You're going to leave too?" Bass said.

"You want me to shoot him down?"

"No," Bass said with a sigh. "Getting shot down by a Matheson is what got us into this situation in the first place."

Miles glared at him. Bass decided to egg him on.

"If the kid knew it wasn't made of candy and covered in glitter he'd get over it," Bass said. "Get Charlie to toss him a piece."

"You think you're funny?"

"Do you remember how bad you had it for Katie Hill in eleventh grade?"

"Yeah. She let me drive her around; cheated off my tests, which was dumb of her by the way; drank my stolen booze and then told me what a great friend I was. Friend." He bitterly sneered at the last word, the memory of Katie's subtle but constant rejection still twisting in his chest.

"Charlie is his Katie," Bass said.

"Well, Charlie doesn't have a sister he can date for spite. He's just going to have to live with his pride unavenged." Quietly he added, "It was a dick move anyway."

The barking sound of a wounded animal reverberated in the space around them, bouncing off the walls while the sound repeated at the source. Jason clutched his stomach and leaned over the railing, still three stories off the ground. Bass and Miles backed away in time to avoid the splatter of the chum cascade.

Miles looked away while Bass shook with silent laughter.

"Did you know he spoke German?" Bass teased.

Miles ran his hand along his skull, gripping his sanity while shoving the hair out of his eyes. "It's only German if you do it in Berlin. This is just puking."

"You ruined currywurst for me."

"It's not my fault you're dainty," Miles answered.

"Bass," Jason called faintly. "Bass?"

"Yes, Jason?" Bass answered.

"How do I get down?"

"Stay put. I'll come get you."

"Hey," Miles said as he grabbed Bass's arm. "That's thirty feet up."

"I'll be OK," Bass answered. "I've had some practice wrangling drunks."


End file.
